by Erika Kelly
A cream-colored envelope had Knox Holliday scrawled on it.
We can’t be there in person, but we’re there in spirit. Love, Callie and Delilah.
She hurried back to the nightstand to grab her phone. Taking a picture, she sent it to both of them. You guys are the best. Thank you. Just as she sat down to pour her tea, the phone chimed. Bowie. Her heart jumped into her throat. “Hello?” Please be let it be Gray’s voice. Please.
“Hey, honey,” Delilah said.
“Oh. I…” Working hard not to sink into despair, she turned back to the cart. “I can’t believe you guys did this.”
“I only wish we could be there to stuff our faces with you,” Delilah said. “Because that looks amazing.”
“Hey, girl,” Callie said. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” she said. “But I think I’m going to move my flight up and come home. I have a ton of work, and there’s nothing left for me to do here.”
“What about the gala?” Callie asked.
“I don’t care about that.” As if she wanted to see Luc win a lifetime achievement award off the backs of all the young, hopeful designers he’d plucked out of college.
“But isn’t it a big deal?” Callie said. “A chance to get in front of everybody and promote your brand?”
“I don’t want to promote this brand. I’ll work on a whole new collection, come back next year, and blow them all away.”
“That’s great,” Callie said. “And you should definitely stick with that plan, but after you wow them tomorrow night.”
“I’d rather come home.”
“Honey,” Delilah said. “I don’t like the idea of letting the bullies win.”
Oh. Was that what she was doing? “If I leave quietly, no one will notice. If I stay, I’ll give them more opportunities to post pictures of the White Trash Wedding Gown Designer. It’ll only draw attention to me.”
“That’s offensive and racist,” Callie said. “And we’re going to ignore it, because we don’t give attention to bad people. Your show was a hit.”
“When does Alayna’s blog come out?” Delilah asked.
“She’s been posting randomly throughout the week, but she always does a couple of major posts after she gets home and sorts through all her photos. She does a Hits and Misses column, predicts the up-and-coming designer to look for. Stuff like that.”
“How do you feel, honey?” Callie asked. “And I’m not talking about the gala.”
It all came rushing back, the horror of her loss. “I ruined everything, and I don’t know how to make it better. He won’t talk to me.”
“The competition’s happening right now, sweetie,” Delilah said.
“No, I know. That’s not the issue. Seven years ago, Robert ruined the prom. Gray told me to leave with him, and I didn’t. I chose Robert. And, now, during my show, Robert messed up again, and instead of asking what happened, I immediately blamed Gray.”
“You’d been around Robert the whole week,” Delilah said. “He’d been sober, he’d done everything he needed to do…why would you think he was high? I don’t think you did anything wrong.”
“I think,” Callie said. “It’s more about the past than the present. The three of you have some pretty intense history, and once you talk it out, I’m sure you’ll get through it.”
“I’m not so sure. I think this time he’s done with me for good.” The pain engulfed her. Streaming tears had her snatching the napkin off the table, the silverware clattering onto the table. She swiped her cheeks frantically. Make it stop. “I never dreamed I could have him like that. He was my best friend. He was…everything. And I didn’t think enough of myself to see him as the man of my heart.”
“What if he’s just upset that he had a hand in ruining your event?” Delilah said. “I mean, they fought on your catwalk.”
“No, I know him. He’s disgusted with me for jumping to the wrong conclusion. It just never entered my mind that Robert was doing drugs. I thought Gray was being competitive over me.”
“I think you’re being too hard on yourself, hon,” Delilah said.
“I don’t,” Knox said. “He always felt like he was invisible in his family. And, now, I just showed him he’s invisible in his relationship with me and Robert.”
“Then I guess you just have to prove that you see him,” Callie said.
Go time.
Body tense with electric energy, Gray twisted his board in the fresh, packed snow.
Visualize. But the only thing he could see was Knox’s horrified expression, thinking he’d instigated the fight with Robert the night of her fashion show.
I lost her.
For good this time.
Because he couldn’t—wouldn’t—do it again. Love someone who didn’t love him back.
“Hey, man.” Fin came up to him, snow crunching under his boots. “You good?”
“What’re you doing? Get out of here.” The prequalifier got a lot of attention in the freestyle world. It set the tone for the season, introducing the world to the contenders. Gray was already in the lead, going into this final run.
Fin tugged on his scruff, glancing at the halfpipe. “Don’t need to tell you how important it is to get your head on right.”
“Sure as hell don’t. Now back off and let me get in the zone.”
“Yeah, that’s the thing. Not sure you’re anywhere near the zone.”
“What’s going on?” a staff guy asked. “Is there a problem?”
“Fixing it,” Fin said.
The guy gave a curt nod and said something into his headset.
“The thing is.” Fin looked anywhere but at Gray. “When Mom left, Dad got a pretty serious wake-up call.”
“You’re not seriously talking to me about our parents right now?”
But his brother ignored him. “He quit his job and had to raise the four of us wild-ass kids by himself. I think herding us all into snow sports was the only way he could handle it.”
By the twist in his heart, he knew his brother was right. “You want me disqualified? Keep talking.”
“Dad saw you. I know he did. He just couldn’t be in four places at one time. He was in survival mode, and I think he raised us the best way he knew how.”
“Okay.” I still would’ve liked a nickname. He actually cracked a smile at how dumb that sounded. But it was true.
“Brodie skied to win a medal, Will did it to prove to Mom that he was a good guy. But you and me? We’ve always done it because it’s fun. Freeriding’s our jam. Remember?”
That simple reminder got his energy flowing, kicking up the adrenaline he’d been missing.
“Yeah, so, anyhow,” Fin said. “Remember to have fun. That’s when you do your best.”
He gave his younger brother the side-eye. Fun? I just had my heart ripped out of my chest, so fuck you.
“I love you, brother. And when you’re done here, you can take your trophy and head out wherever you need to go to fix whatever you broke. But for right now? It’s time for you to fuckin’ explode. Can you do that?”
He smiled at his brother, coach, and friend. “Yeah. I can do that.” He turned to the course, bent his knees, and slid down the slope to the starting point.
Explode. The word did something to him. Visualizing his first trick, Gray took off. Right before hitting the lip, he threw his shoulder, looking over his shoulder—spot it, spot it—and again—fuck, he loved the smell of snow, the rush of the wind on his face as he rotated a second time and…stomped his landing. Fuck, yeah. He stayed low to gain speed as he raced up the wall.
And then he was in it—completely lost in the muscle memory of his tricks. As soon as he hit the lip, he knew he was going for it. Switchback twelve. Didn’t think, just threw himself into the flip, kept his focus right between his arm and leg to spot his landing, and grabbed his board.
Landed. Nice. This is it, man, go for it. Back-to-back twelve combos. Do it.
His back foot hit the lip, every muscle in hi
s body contracted, and Gray just fucking exploded. And when he landed, he knew.
He’d nailed it.
Sliding down, snow spraying off his board, he pumped his arms in the air. The crowd went wild. As soon as he scraped to a stop, he unbuckled his helmet, tore off his gloves, and tipped his head back, letting the sharp sunlight hit his face.
For one moment, he imagined his dad right there in the crowd, fighting to get to Gray, expression bursting with pride. It made his eyes sting, and he glanced up to the sky. “Love you, Dad.”
In that tense moment while waiting for his score, his heart pounding, lungs heaving, he felt a peace settle over him and knew Fin was right. His dad had loved him just as much as his brothers. And, when the crowd roared, he knew he’d won.
This one’s for you, Dad.
Immediately, he was swarmed. A reporter shoved a microphone in his face. “Congratulations, man, that was outstanding.”
“Thanks.”
“Gray,” another reporter called. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to pull a Will and retire after a perfect run like this.”
“Oh, hell, no. I’m no quitter.” He gave a teasing smile. “We’re going to the Olympics. One of us has to get the job done.”
In a spectacular crystal gown with a deep V neckline and cap sleeves that she’d made in Maui, Knox stood in the New York Public Library’s Astor Hall.
Decorated in a Midsummer Night’s Dream theme, with dramatic lighting and lavish greenery, the event was sponsored by the fashion council, and the coveted invitations were issued only to the who’s-who of the bridal fashion world.
She’d wondered how Robert had scored her a ticket, considering she wasn’t officially part of the week-long event, but now she knew the truth. Luc had gotten it for her.
A fresh wave of anger rolled through her. The only comfort she took from the whole sickening situation was that she’d confronted both men. She’d knocked on Robert’s door and reamed him. Hadn’t let him get in a single word. She’d left him with the threat that if he tried to make any headway in the fashion industry, she would expose him for the lying bastard he was. She was pretty sure his own mom would back her up on that one.
You’ve gone to all this trouble to attend the gala…why are you standing here thinking about bad things?
Tonight, you’re a talented wedding gown designer.
Leave your baggage at the door.
Her gaze swept the room. Nearly a thousand stunningly-dressed guests chatted in the dramatic space, dimly lit to accentuate the glowing sprites and fairies gracefully chasing each other through the crowd. Copper cocktail glasses and flower pots stuffed with gourmet charcuterie lent a whimsical touch to the décor.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention.” On the podium, a tuxedoed woman she recognized as Esther Delgado, the president of the fashion council, leaned against the lectern. “It’s time to introduce the recipient of this year’s Lifetime Achievement award.” She paused while the room quieted down to nothing more than a few clinking glasses and a low murmur of conversation between the wait staff.
“Persistence,” Ms. Delgado said. “Is the word I’d use to describe this couturier who grew up in the suburbs of Paris, son of a single father who held three jobs to keep food on the table. Tonight’s recipient had no formal design education but, rather, racked up hours of experience while sitting on the stairs of his apartment building and watching the newly wedded couples emerge from the church across the street. Never without a pencil in hand, he would sketch gowns and send them to every designer in Paris. Until, finally, one of them responded. Jacques Tournier hired him to apprentice in his atelier and, from there, he went on to become the most famous bridal gown designer in the world. Ladies and gentlemen, it’s my great honor to present this year’s Lifetime Achievement award to Mr. Luc Bellerose, couturier of the esteemed House of Bellerose.”
The ballroom burst into deafening applause, and Knox watched her former boss disentangle himself from a sea of greedy hands, all wanting a piece of his magic, and climb the steps to the podium. He waved to the crowd, his smile so bright and wide, it stretched his features unnaturally.
What killed her was that Luc had never even bothered to talk to her. To verify that she was actually behind the exchange.
Some guy contacts you out of the blue, and you just go along with it?
That’s how desperate he is for inspiration. He’s bone dry.
When Luc reached the lectern, the audience quieted down. Everyone watched him with adoring expressions…except for her. She willed him to find her in the crowd, look into her eyes as he took credit for all the collections of the past several years that he hadn’t designed. She wanted him to feel shame, remorse…something.
He couldn’t hurt her anymore, but maybe she could stop him from preying on some other young designer with stars in her eyes and a hunger in her soul to be something different than the way her childhood had painted her.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” In his electric blue velvet tuxedo jacket with a thin yellow military stripe on each side, he hoisted the heavy crystal statue in the air before clutching it to his chest.
He looked down, noticeably moved. “This means everything to me. You see, as a little boy, my father did not approve of me drawing dresses. He enrolled me in athletics at the community center, believing I could be cured of my obsession with satin and lace. But, still, as Madame Delgado said, I persisted. I persisted when, instead of going to college, I apprenticed with a designer who saw my sketchbook and said, ‘You’re a hard worker, Luc, but I’m afraid I don’t see any potential here.’ I persisted when my very first review in Bridal Couture magazine called my designs ‘nothing terribly extraordinary.’”
He panned the room, as though taking a moment to work through his emotions. “Each failure, each rejection, each person who told me I wouldn’t succeed at the job I wanted more than anything, fueled my ambition. Each one made me work harder. I took classes—all kinds—not just fashion design but figure drawing and watercolors, so I could understand shape, shading, and tone. I visited ateliers and fashion shows. I persisted until the Fédération granted me membership. And I continue to persist to make my way in this field that, to this day, makes my heart and soul rejoice.”
He held out the award. “So, to be here tonight holding this in my hands…this is the moment when I can let out a breath and say, I did it. And if I can do it, anyone can. As long as you persist.”
Amidst the explosion of applause came whistles and shouts of support. A wave of heat barreled across the room, as if he’d sparked a fire in the attendees souls. When Mrs. Delgado approached to lead him off the stage, he held up a finger and leaned into the microphone. “And, unfortunately for you, I’m going to persist with this speech, so bear with me.” The humor left his expression. “Following your dreams, never giving up, is good. It’s essential. But, as someone recently pointed out to me, it is equally essential to know when it’s time to step back. Ladies and gentlemen, friends, colleagues, I have lost my creative fire.”
Shock burned hot and cold on Knox’s skin.
“Years ago, in fact. And in its place, I’ve devoted my life to discovering the brightest talent.” He seemed to search the crowd. “In the beginning, I believed it would rekindle my spark. But, it has occurred to me this week, perhaps instead of rekindling I should just step aside to make room for the next generation. And, so, I am retiring. I’m going to set this beautiful symbol of all I’ve accomplished on my bookshelf, where I can look at it every day, while I enjoy, for the first time in my life, some peace. There is so much talent in the world of bridal fashion design.” His gaze landed on her, and she felt it like a jolt of electricity. “And the brightest light of all is in this room tonight. Knox Holliday is the White-Hot designer. And I want you to remember her name because, mark my words, in twenty years, she’s going to be standing on this podium accepting this award.” He held it over his head. “From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
And goodnight.”
All around her, everyone stood in place, mesmerized and shocked by the announcement.
He’s retiring?
Still reeling from the speech, that acknowledgment of her as the hottest up-and-coming designer, Knox wandered through the ballroom. But, really, what had hit her the hardest was the comment he’d made about peace. She’d felt that comment viscerally.
She’d been on the run from bullies her whole life. She could admit, finally, that they’d chased her to Paris, to Luc’s atelier, to this very moment where she’d forced herself into Bridal Fashion Week on the promises of an ex-boyfriend who had zero experience in her industry. A man who had never told the truth about anything.
There’s no peace in that.
That’s what Luc meant. He didn’t mean the hard work it took to become a well-known designer or to run his business. He meant the constant fight to prove his dad wrong. That was exhausting.
Knox had what it took to succeed. The talent, the work ethic, the ambition—but trying to prove the bullies wrong depleted her.
She didn’t need the couture designation to live her dream or accomplish her goals. She just needed to design her beloved wedding gowns.
And she needed Gray. Her feet ached in the rented shoes, and she was tired of sucking in her belly in the form-fitting dress. It was time to go home.
“Excuse me, Miss Holliday?” Jack Abrams stood before her with a warm smile.
“Mr. Abrams. It’s so nice to see you again.”
“I had to finish out the week, just in case we found an even hotter star in the bridal gown galaxy but, of course, my first instincts were correct, and my board unanimously voted to extend a contract to you.”
The moment couldn’t have been more surreal if he’d started belting out show tunes.
Here it is, the moment you’ve dreamed of for years. “I’m so…” What? She did a quick check-in with herself. “Pleased.” You’re pleased that Jack Abrams just offered you a contract? “Honored.” She gave an awkward laugh. “Shocked, I guess.” Shock, frankly, that she didn’t feel as elated as she would’ve expected.